


a feast for the senses

by amsves



Category: Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo
Genre: 5 Things, Drabble Sequence, M/M, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 10:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amsves/pseuds/amsves
Summary: There is a lot to notice about the Count; when they are together, Albert makes sure to notice it all.





	a feast for the senses

**Author's Note:**

> Just binged this anime and it was fantastic honestly. I'd read the original novel it was based on a while ago, but hadn't really liked it, so I was pleasantly surprised to find myself so engulfed by Gankutsuou. And by Albert's infatuation with the Count, because fanfiction ;)

_ sight _

Of Course the Count’s mansion is beautiful, in that overbearing, ostentatious sense that the people of Paris seem to favor. Luna was like this, too, and Albert is sure that high societies all throughout explored space feature similar aesthetics of abundance.

The Count himself, though, possesses a different kind of allure. He is not garish or pretentious, or even what one would call classically beautiful. His draw is an unorthodox, exotic one, with his powder blue skin, flowing dark hair, mismatched eyes, and pointed teeth. Albert has heard his fellow Parisians call the Count unconventional, when they were feeling generous, and bizarre and abnormal when they weren’t, and he has to agree with them. The Count is a kind of creature that cannot be found in their traditional circles, but that only makes him all the more irresistible. The pull is magnetic, and Albert feels himself being seduced every time he dares to meet the Count’s eyes.

 

_ smell _

A particular smell hangs around the Count. 

It took Albert a while to notice it, and a longer while still to identify it as the Count’s signature scent. Now, when he enters 30 Champs Elysees, or the forest villa, or anywhere where the Count is, really, it’s all he can think about. It slithers up his nostrils and swirls through his brain, giving him a head rush that makes thinking difficult and concentrating nigh-impossible.

It hits him hard, with its floral, spicy, woody mixture like the world’s most expensive and delectable cologne, and he can’t help himself from taking a deep breath and drawing it in. He imagines it flowing through his veins, being distributed to the far-reaching corners of his body, and has to fight down the blush. This is his favorite smell in the world, more dear to him than his mother’s perfume, or the smell of fresh-baking bread, or the muscat grapes in the summer air.

Underneath the heady elixir, though, is a note that finds Albert last, one that troubles him. The sour pangs of iron are sometimes too strong, ruining the otherwise perfect composition.

 

_ sound _

The Count only seems to know one song.

Albert is sure he isn’t meant to hear it, but sometimes, before he enters a room, he can hear the Count humming softly to himself, voice sweet and rich and perfectly fitting for a man such as himself. He always makes sure to be a little noisier, then, so that the Count can be alerted to his arrival.

The song, he realizes one night, sounds almost like one that his mother used to sing to him at night, before he insisted he was too old for lullabies.

 

_ taste _

For someone who doesn’t eat, the Count loves to make sure that Albert eats well. Delicacies from the far reaches of the universe make their way to him during his visits, each one more fantastical than the last. He’s sure the faces he makes while he eats are ridiculous—he couldn’t stop smiling when he sampled the luna croissants last week, and the cold spiciness of mercurial salted truffles always brings tears to his eyes—but the Count never says anything, simply watches him eat like Albert is the most fascinating entertainment in the world. Albert feels a bit like a fish in a tank, but it’s a small price to pay, and really not a price at all, not when he gets to spend time with the person he’s decided is the only one he can trust.

 

_ touch _

The Count, one day, takes off his gloves. Albert sees his long, think fingers, made even longer with pointed fingernails, and wonders how much smaller his own hands must seem in comparison. The Count must know this, because he smiles, and in the blink of an eye he’s pressing their palms together, fingers splayed against fingers, skin to skin, flesh to flesh. The cold of his hands has long since ceased to shock Albert.

He was right, Albert thinks distantly. His own hands aren’t necessarily small, but they look like those of a lady when flush with the Count’s, and how is that fair? But he doesn’t ponder that for long--the Count folds his fingers down around Albert’s palm, like they’re holding hands, before stepping closer. Distance between them shortened, their arms bend at the elbows, and the Count draws their enjoined hands to his lips. Albert watches, nerves endings tingling, as the Count brings each of Albert’s own still-extended fingertips to his lips and gives them all a gentle kiss. “You’re too cute,” he says, teasingly, mirth in his voice. “Like a child.” Albert isn’t sure what to make of that, so he stays silent, letting the Count ravish him with his disconcerting praise, blushing all the while.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](http://www.skeletoncloset.tumblr.com)


End file.
